Two, Three, Forty-Five
by Wijida
Summary: Inspired by a random quote I found in the library...Janeway's death has been feared by many, and dreaded by one in particular. If he had to face it...what would he be thinking?


[][1]

  


**Dislcaimer**: Voyager belongs to Paramount, and with only four episodes left, I feel I need to churn out as much fanfic as possible in order to properly say goodbye. Godspeed, Paramount! :) And the bit of a sonnet I'm using was written by none other than William Shakespeare.

  


**Two, Three, Forty-Five**

By Manda (Mizuno Ami)

  


She died in such a way, acceptance flashing in her eyes with a wave of crystal azure before clouds of storm rolled in to extinguish the flame inside of her. Chakotay was reminded of a hailstorm on the plains, back on Trebus, when the gale force winds had struck down the strongest of willow trees which stood sentry in a nearby forest. That tree had withstood so much for so long- decades of squalls, hurricane forces, ion storms...and an eerie calm had met them that day as Chakotay and his father had discovered it's fallen glory.

_"This was not it's time_," His father had insisted, attentions drawn to the vast collection of age rings, spreading from close-quarters to far away edges of the broken trunk. Chakotay was struck by the very few circles displayed, and how young this massive giant had really been.

"Come on, Kathryn," He chanted smoothly, silently, words crashing like waves of the ocean against the walls of his mind. Steadily repeating each line as if she could hear, as if she weren't already too far gone. "It's not your time."

But she was already dead.

  


~~~~~~~

  


A sharp crash of thunder brought her gaze toward the open sky, each cloud laden with condensed raindrops, coloring their vessels a steely grey. They seemed prepared to burst at any moment, and she thought it best to not be there when they did.

"Away teams- prepare to rendezvous for transport." It was always a simple proceedure, rarely made difficuly by bad planetary weather spells. She felt confident that her crew would handle it as well as they knew how, and as efficiently as possible.

Thunder rolled, crashed as symbols against the sky, and she turned away from the prevailing windsto peer into the straggling group which pushed in her direction. Red, yellow and blue shoulders were bent against the force, and a pang of compassion struck her as she stood her ground, waiting them out.

"We'll have to take cover!" She raised her voice and began to move, alone, heading toward a network of shielded caves, which, according to her tricorder, were sturdy ground.

  


******

  


"Kathryn!" Chakotay's eyes snapped open and he sat up, torso beaded with sweat, brow furrowed and jaw set in a mixture of confusion and fear. He dreamt about her often- about that day and the look in her eyes- and her final words. He'd wanted to say more, to say something...although at the time he hadn't been sure. Just a feeling, an urge to speak of more than they'd the time for. 

He wondered still what he could have said.

It was- or had been- a difficult time for the crew, for so many who were left, and he'd been as strong as he could, by day. For their sake for so than his own, as he was certain she would have done in any other case. She would have kept up morale, kept it up as high as her 'powers' would allow, and would have worried about the outlook on the crew- how they would percieve the mood- so he'd spent many hours convincing her, over a bottle of chilled cider or a fresh cut greek salad, that she was doing well. The dinners, those nights he'd spent convincing...they'd been his most enjoyable.

When she'd lost Jaffen, emotions had been raw, and all the consoling in the Delta Quadrant had seemed far from what she needed to ease the intensity of the suffering. She _could_ overcome it on her own, and would have to.

And she did before it was too late, which was one thing she'd always been successful with, and was the one memory Chakotay knew he could always hold on to. The pride that Kathryn Janeway was once again able to overcome something- he'd always been sure that she could.

"Bridge to the Captain."

"Chakotay here."

"Sir," It was Tom Paris' voice that reached him- Tom Paris' cocky, yet light overtones which radiated just enough concern for Chakotay to pick up on it. Paris had been hit by her death as much as anyone- nearly able to releate with Chakotay's own feeling of loss. "Chakotay, it's getting late."

"Late for what?" Running a hand through lightly shorn salt-and-pepperhair, the 'Captain' slid from beneath the covers and began to dress in the previous day's uniform, knowing just how he looked, and not caring at all.

"Duty shift- 0800 hours?" Increased concern, and Chakotay sighed audibly.

"I'm on my way. Chakotay out." 

How eerily those he remembered her, and how final those words had been.

  


~~~~~~~

  


"Quickly!" She strained, reached, arms elongated as she pressed sweaty palms against a thick, roughened tree branch as teams ducked beneath into safety. "It may not hold for much longer..." And she was right, she knew she was right, as the rain pelted her face to plasted roan-brown locks against her forehead. The lightning illuminated shadows, lit the sky as a fierce shade of grey, and the thunder increased rapidly as she led her people to safe haven. 

"Captain, that's everyone." Lieutenant Carey was last, stepping aside to allow Janeway the time to lower the obstruction. "Have you had any luck in contacting Voyager?"

"No. There's too much interference." She reported this grimly, head shaking and damp hand flinging disturbingly into her eyes. "Let's move."

They raced through the dense branches of a thicky populated grove- poplars, she mused, or perhaps something similar to oak, if they'd been on Earth again. But none of that mattered now, and she ran close to Carey, sprinting harder.

_"Voyager...Cap...Janeway...resp..d."_

"Voyager?" She paused, stumbling over an upturned root in her haste to stop, pressing her hand to her commbadge and taking shelter beneath a flowering tree- lavender blossoms showered apon her, jolted loose from the storm."Voyager, this is Janeway. Chakotay, can you hear me?"

__

"Captain...int...erence...Transport...rough..." The interference was nearly intolerable, and rough patches became rougher as she assumed Chakotay was attempting to improve the quality of the transmission._ Anything...anything, please..._

"Voyager?"

__

"We read you, Captain." Chakotay's warm, steady voice poured over her, a welcome haven from the icy rain. "The storm is moving directly overhead. Harry reads it as a class two ion storm...you may have to take cov-"

She blanched, eyes turning skyward at the harsh claps of thunder and clashing amber bolts. "Chakotay, I've lost you!"

__

"...light years...ome...for...you.."

"You're coming back for us?" She repeated. "Voyager? Respond!"

__

"..cover. Good luck...ryn."

"Same to you." She felt grim- was sure Chakotay felt and looked the same. In her minds eye she could picture him, see his face, the way his brow furrowed and lips turned downward to frown at the turn of events. "See you soon. Janeway out."

Her mind was reeling with the sudden need to find shelter, to get to safety and wait for Voyager to return for them. She spun, stumbling, jolting a rapidly swinging vine.

It all happened too quickly.

She looked up once more, into a pendulant log, blunt end thrusting itself into her ribcage without a sound, so swiftly...that she never felt anything.

  


And they'd found her body when the rain had stopped, dewdrops glistening apon the jade leaves and sour-lime grasses beneath her in-tact limbs. A thin trickle of blood worked it's way from beneath her hair and down one porcelean cheek, over a gentle curve of her chin. At ease, her eyelids fluttered restlessly, her breathing shallow, and one brief glance at the cloudless azure sky registered no direct response as Carey hoisted her into his arms. And the blue eyes stared, lacking a sapphire sparkle, up at Chakotay--seeing nothing.

  


*****

  


He remembered her last words which she'd spoken to him, face to face, as if she'd spoken them only yesterday. A discussion...authors, quotations...a brief piece of a sonnet, smooth in her delivery, and relevant. _Very_ relevant. 

She began softly, voice smoky velvet as lips formed the words learned so far back in life.

"I would not," and she smiled. She _smiled_, he could recall. "I would not be a queen...

...for all the world."

  


-Fin

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   [1]: http://voyagercontest.cjb.net/



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